I met a new guy for a drink in PB last night. In summary, this is how it went:

First of all, I agreed to go out with this guy for a couple of reasons.

1. He grew up on Long Island, and now lives in SD (common ground).

2. He has facial hair in his photo.

If you’re a man with facial hair in your photo, it’s probably because you know you look good with facial hair; so you’d better show up to a first date with the same facial hair as in the photo. I don’t know if you guys know this, but you look like a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON when your face is shaved. And it’s usually not for the better.

Also, if you’re going to suggest a “casual place,” to “grab a drink,” AT LEAST loosen your tie. I’d actually prefer you remove the tie completely and maybe even get a little crazy and unbutton that top button on your white freshly pressed button-down, but at the very least, let your poor neck breathe just a tiny bit.

As much as I felt like I was sitting across from Ross Gellar for an entirely too-long period of time, it really wasn’t his looks or his outfit that bothered me the most. No, no… it was his personality. HOLY CRAP… what is WITH these San Diego guys?? They either don’t have a job, or their job is ALL they talk about. I think I’ve figured it out:

In NYC, you’re EXPECTED to have a good job. Otherwise you’re a loser. If you don’t have a good job, you either pretend you do, and don’t really talk about it, or you’re trying really hard to get one. In San Diego, you’re in the minority if you have a solid career… so that’s what you use to differentiate yourself from the surfers who live off of mommy and daddy’s money.

Let me throw it out there… at this point… I.DON’T.CARE.

I don’t care about your Mercedes. I don’t care about your savings account. I don’t care about the amount of money your grandfather left to your parents, and what they did with it. I don’t care about your pool. I don’t care about your stuffy tie. I don’t care about the amount of international vacations you’ve taken in the past 6 months. I don’t care about your airline points. I don’t care how many homes you own. I don’t care about your Rolex. I don’t care about most of the things coming out of your mouth, because you are SO DAMN SUPERFICIAL. Every last one of you that has a real job. I DON’T CARE.

I think I’m the kind of person who wears her emotions on her sleeve. And I think it’s pretty obvious when my eyes are glassing over and I’m BORED out of my mind… but please… please… continue talking about yourself. Start from when you were five, and continue, up until 5 minutes ago when your Mercedes didn’t fit correctly in the parking spot (hashtag you poor thing!) Please don’t leave out the names of your best friend’s ex-wives, or how much money they made. Also, your family problems are fair game. I’d love to hear all about them. And if you’re going to pay for this one beer we got with your business credit card so that you can expense it, you should definitely let me know that as well.

Oh, by the way, did I tell you my name yet? Oh, you’re still talking? Nevermind then… not important.

And if you think this 45 minutes sitting at a bar talking at me went so well, definitely text me right afterwards and ask me to do something again next week. Because that 45 minutes was so riveting, I just can’t wait to hear more. Maybe by next week, you’ll have closed on your 5th condo downtown, so it will give you something more to talk about.

No.Thankyou.

I think I’m reverting back to the surfers. At least they don’t bore me to death.